


when it rains it pours

by MaliciousVegetarian



Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mpreg, Multi, Poison, Pregnancy, Whump, Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March, labor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/pseuds/MaliciousVegetarian
Summary: After Sodden, a bandit attack causes a pregnant Geralt to go into labor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189178
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	when it rains it pours

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two: Blood
> 
> This seems as good a time as any to say I spell Yennefer's nickname Yenn instead of Yen. Both are equally valid, I just personally like Yenn better.
> 
> Warnings: mpreg, graphic depictions of labor, discussion of child death

The wound really isn’t that bad. Okay, so it bled a lot, and alright, Yennefer _did_ have to dig the arrowhead out, but it’ll be fine. He’s had worse. And yes, the regular stomach pains aren’t great, but he’ll survive.

“I’ve had worse,” he tells Yennefer.

“Not while pregnant,” she says exasperatedly. She’s got one hand on his thigh, like she thinks he might fall off if she lets go. Which he definitely wouldn’t, no matter how dizzy he feels. Or how much he keeps slipping sideways.

“How is he?” Ciri calls from where she’s walking with Jaskier. Geralt huffs angrily - he’s right here, after all.

“Still with us,” Yennefer says dryly. “Can you see the town yet?”

“It’s just over this hill. We’ll be there soon.”

“Good,” Yennefer says, shivering. “I can’t get out of the rain.”

Is it raining? Is that why Geralt’s so wet? He holds out a hand and watches as the water drips down it.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by Yennefer’s hand pushing against his thigh. “Geralt? Hey, Geralt!”

“‘M here,” he says. “You don’t have to yell.”

“I’m not yelling. Here, let me see your eyes.”

Geralt tries to lean down, but as he does he finds the ground rushing towards him, and then there’s the tingling feeling of Yennefer’s magic wrapping around him. “Careful,” she hisses, pushing him back onto Roach. He tries to help, grabbing at the saddle.

“Why didn’t you tell me you hit your head?” Yennefer asks, sounding that particular flavor of annoyed that means she’s worried about him. Geralt smiles. He loves Yennefer. He loves that she’s let him learn her mood, becoming familiar with every nuance of them. He’s a leading scholar in Yennefer studies.

“Geralt,” the object of his studies says sharply. “Your head?”

Oh. He tries to think, but his memory feels odd and grainy. “Don’t remember.”

Yennefer sighs, and puts her hand back on his leg. “Jaskier? We need to hurry.”

Jaskier glances over his shoulder. “We’re already hurrying.”

“Well, we need to hurry faster.”

Geralt drifts a bit. Suddenly, the gentle motion of Roach’s walk stops, and he’s being helped to the ground. When his feet hit, they sink into the earth, and he lets out a noise of surprise. Somewhere nearby, Jaskier laughs, low and familiar. The sound warms Geralt from the inside, like a hot drink. Moments later, however, it’s shattered by the return of the stabbing pain in his stomach. He feels as if there’s something about that he should note, but he can’t think of what it is.

The distance to the in is muddy, and Geralt finds it hard to keep his balance. The pain in his stomach seems to be lasting longer this time, and he tightens his grip on Jaskier’s arm. Ciri holds his other arm, although he doesn’t allow himself to let much weight rest on her.

The stairs are awful, and it takes the four of them several minutes to navigate them. They end up with Yennefer behind Geralt, steadying him, and Jaskier and Ciri in front encouraging him and reminding him to step up.

Yennefer and Jaskier help him get settled on the bed, and Yennefer tells him to rest. She mutters something to Jaskier about asking after a healer, and heads downstairs. Ciri pulls a chair next to the bed, and pulls a book out of her pack. Geralt feels slightly listless, lacking energy and feeling like he can’t get comfortable. He shifts, and Jaskier glances down at him.

“How are you doing?”

“Alright.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe you.” Jaskier crosses the room to stand over Geralt, and Ciri looks up from her book. At this incredibly inconvenient time, the pain comes again. Geralt can’t even try to hide it. He half cries out, the noise turning into a low grunt as it ends. Jaskier reaches out, eyes frantic, and grips his hand.

“Geralt, Geralt, what’s wrong?” Ciri is on her feet now, book abandoned on the chair. She takes Geralt’s other hand, eyes full of fear.

Geralt squeezes her hand. “Hurts.”

“I know, but where?” she asks.

Instead of answering, Geralt pulls his hand out of Jaskier’s and places it on his stomach. Jaskier’s face goes white.

“Your stomach hurts?”

Geralt nods.

“Has it been happening regularly?”

Geralt nods again.

“Shit, shit, shit - okay, it’ll be okay. We’re okay. Have you felt the baby moving?”

Geralt narrows his eyes, trying to remember. “Not sure.”

“Ciri, go get Yennefer. Geralt, tell me if you feel the baby, alright? Yennefer’s getting a healer, it’ll be fine.

The door behind them opens, and Jaskier and Ciri both jump. But it’s just Yennefer, face creased. “There’s no healer in town. The nearest one is over the river, and the river’s flooding.”

“Shit,” Jaskier says again, standing up. “Yenna, I think he’s in labor,” he says, as if whispering to her will hide it from Geralt and Ciri.

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

“I’m no midwife, but I think so. He told me he’s been having stomach pains, and that they’ve been coming frequently. And he doesn’t remember the last time he felt the baby moving.”

“Fuck, this is bad. Okay.” Yennefer takes a deep breath, and straightens her shoulders, then turns towards Geralt. “Geralt, I’m going to need to check you.”

“Yennefer, what are you doing? You’re no midwife either.”

“No, but I know the basics. It’s a useful skill for a court mage. Anyways, it’s too dangerous to go for a healer now. I’ll have to do.”

Jaskier nods. Geralt tries not to shiver as she slips her fingers between his legs. She pulls out quickly and tries to give him a reassuring smile. “You’re starting to dilate. Can you remember how long the pains have been coming?”

Geralt tries to remember, but the thinking makes his head hurt worse. He shakes his head, and that also is a bad idea. He feels guilty that he doesn’t know, and suddenly realizes there are tears running down his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier and Yennefer trip over each other to say, and “Don’t cry!” That’s Ciri. She takes his hand in her smaller one, and Geralt holds it like a lifeline. Now the tears have started, he can’t seem to make them stop. The onset of the next pain only makes them come faster.

Then suddenly, he feels something that makes him gasp. The other three look up, concerned. “The baby,” Geralt says. “I felt them move.”

Yennefer’s eyes are welling up as well. “Good, that’s good.”

Jaskier reaches down and takes Geralt’s other hand. “We’re going to do this, alright?”

“Here, let’s get you up,” Yennefer says. They help Geralt until he’s kneeling on the floor with his arms on the bed and his head on his arms. He feels dizzy and a little nauseous. Jaskier and Ciri sit on either side of him, rubbing his back. The pains are closer together now, and Geralt can’t keep himself from crying out. Every few minutes, Yennefer makes him lift his head to take a sip of water. 

Jaskier wets a handkerchief, and starts wiping Geralt’s brow. After a moment, he pulls back, frowning. “Yenna, he feels warm.”

Yennefer swears, and places a cool hand on Geralt’s forehead. He leans into it, but she pulls away and moves it to the back of his neck. “You’re definitely feverish,” she says, brow furrowed. “Here, Jaskier, help me get him back on the bed.”

The motion of being pulled up makes Geralt gag, bringing up watery bile. He feels tears start again as the bitter taste settles in his mouth. Jaskier fusses, wiping the vomit from his shirt.

“Just take it off,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier obeys. Ciri helps Yennefer unbandage the wound, and her eyes go wide when it’s revealed.

“Yennefer -”

“I know.” The skin around the puncture is dark and bruised, and purple tendrils map out the veins running up his shoulder. 

“The arrow must have been poisoned,” Jaskier whispers. Yennefer nods.

“I don’t think we have any choice but to ride for a healer now,” she says. “The poison is making its way through his system. If it reaches the baby, they’ll die quickly.”

“I’ll go,” Jaskier says immediately.

“No, I will,” Yennefer says stubbornly. “I’m the better rider, and if I was able to portal we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Geralt can hear frustration in her voice.

“I can -” Ciri only gets that far before Yennefer interrupts. 

“Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous.”

“But - “

“No, Ciri.”

Jaskier sticks his fist out, nearly hitting Yennefer in the stomach. “Rock Paper Scissors. Winner leaves, loser stays.”

It takes them three rounds before there’s a winner, because they both keep picking paper, but Jaskier wins with a well-timed scissors.

“Do you know the route?” Yennefer asks.

“No, but I’ll ask downstairs.”

“Alright. Hurry.”

It’s beginning to darken outside, and Yennefer lights a candle with a tiny puff of magic, still all she can manage after the battle of Sodden. 

She and Ciri help him back off the bed and into a crouched position. The pains are coming thick and fast now, and he wants to hold his breath through them, but Yennefer keeps reminding him to breathe, breathing deeply and slowly herself, as if giving him an example. Ciri crouches beside him, looking worried.

Geralt puts as much effort into breathing as he can, because it’s the only way he can remain calm. As the pain gets worse and worse, he begins to feel weaker as well, and he knows the poison is spreading. He leans more and more of his weight against the bed, while Ciri and Yennefer run their hands through his hair and whisper encouragements. They both seem as lost as he feels.

Finally, Yennefer checks him again and says, “You’re almost ready. This will be over soon.” He wants to nod, but feels so dizzy and unwell that he doesn’t dare.

“With the next pain, you’re going to push, alright? With as much strength as you can manage. Remember to breathe.”

Geralt doesn’t respond. He feels too sick to lift his head.

“Geralt? I need an answer from you.”

“Hmm.”

She chuckles as she dips Jaskier’s handkerchief in the water and replaces it on the back of his neck. “There you are.”

“Yenn?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t feel good.”

“I know. You’re almost there. You’re almost there.”

He follows her instructions and pushes with the next pain, crying out in effort. He’s surrounded by the pain, engulfed in it, and there is nothing else. He’s floating and he can’t find the floor, he’s -

“Geralt, _breathe_.”

He does his best. Finally, the pain lets him go, and he sinks back.

In the midst of the next pain, he hears other voices in the room and feels an unfamiliar hand on his forehead. He whines and tries to pull away. He doesn’t want anyone but his family right now.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Jaskier’s voice promises from nearby. Geralt reaches out and feels him take his hand. Yennefer takes his other, and it settles Geralt a bit, knowing they’re there.

“One more good push,” an unfamiliar voice says, startling him out of his reverie. “You’re very close.

Geralt isn’t sure he can survive another push, but he gathers his strength, eager for it to be over. “He’s weakening,” the strange voice says. “We need to move quickly, or he won’t be able to complete the labor.”

Geralt bears down, gripping his partners’ hands. The pain is hot and bright now, and he can feel painful stretching.

“The head is delivered,” the voice says. “Geralt, you need to keep pushing.”

As the next pain begins, he wonders how this person knows his name. He tries to push as hard as he can, letting out a low moan. He’s being told to breathe again, but he’s not sure who’s saying it.

Then there’s a rush, and his whole body sags. A thin, frail cry fills the room, and yet again, his eyes fill with tears. He’s being lifted up, and he can barely keep his head from slumping against his shoulder. The crying stops, and he frantically tries to look around. “The baby?”

“The healer’s with him,” Yennefer says. “Stay awake, you need to deliver the afterbirth still.”

A few more pushes, and then something cold is pressed to his lips. He tries to turn away, sure that if he drinks anything he’ll throw it back up, but his head is held in place and the liquid forced down his throat. After that, things fade out.

When he wakes up, the world makes sense again. He tries to open his eyes, but is met with what seems like blinding light. He feels tired and weak and shivery, but he’s awake.

“Geralt?”

Yennefer’s there. He cracks his eyes open and glances around. Jaskier is sitting in one corner, holding something, and Ciri is next to him, fast asleep, head resting against the wall.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice is thick and raspy. “I feel like I went six rounds with a leshen, but I’m here.”

Yennefer gestures over to Jaskier, beckoning him closer. Something’s missing, Geralt thinks. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s right here,” Jaskier says, laying his bundle on Geralt’s chest. He looks down and finds dark brown eyes and a mess of dark hair, skin a shade lighter than Yennefer’s. The baby looks up at Geralt, quiet and fascinated.

“A boy?” Geralt asks. Yennefer nods. 

“We have a son.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me and the prompts at trissmarrygoals on tumblr!


End file.
